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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844528">The Price of Resurrection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42'>Wicked42</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stabbing, Whump, adorable lesbians being gay, bullet wounds, injuries, nanite breakdown, poor Angela, resurrection comes at a price</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:20:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked42/pseuds/Wicked42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Angela's resurrections come at a high cost--and she'll be damned if anyone finds out about it. </p><p>Or, Angela spends the time after missions writhing in agony, and Fareeha finally realizes it and panics. &gt;.&gt;</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Price of Resurrection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/gifts">alettepegasus</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Someone else wrote a fic about what would happen if Angela took over the pain of the people she healed, but it wasn't quiiiite what I wanted to read? So I wrote a different version. :P </p><p>Huge thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus"> Alettepegasus </a>, my fabulous beta and exasperated Mercy to my gungho "kill them all" Pharah, for giving me this prompt. Love me some good, solid whump!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The nanites had finite energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded complicated, but it wasn’t—not really, not to Angela. The nanobiotics she’d infused in her body only survived off her life force, electrical impulses as her cells moved around each other. They could exist in perpetuity that way. But when she expended too much energy—say, yanking someone back from the brink of death—those impulses faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the nanites lost their charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant, regrettably, that fairly soon after, Angela was paying for that resurrection as billions of microscopic robots went dead at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wouldn’t be a big deal in anyone else. But Angela had spent decades cheating death. Hundreds of battles where her Valkyrie suit was shredded with bullets, her skin sliced with knives and debris, her joints wrenched from their sockets as she pulled herself after her teammates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all healed so very nicely. But scars never really went away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the nanites did a very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good job masking the memories of that pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would revive, of course. They were a social group, her nanobiotics, and all it took was one single nanite traveling to its companions, rebooting them one by one. The process took several hours, time Angela typically spent writhing in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because if the other members of Overwatch found out—there’d be fatal consequences. People fawning over her would merely be the start. Soon, they’d be avoiding her in battle. God forbid, shoving her away when they were on the brink, just so she wouldn’t suffer for their mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew her teammates, and she knew that the altruistic attitudes of the Overwatch clan would be their doom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every resurrection came at a price.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was one Doctor Angela Ziegler was willing to pay.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three resurrections today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji—bold and loyal to a fault—riddled with bullets from a rogue omnic’s spray. Her nanites transferred freely with the help of the Caduceus staff, shoving the iron from his metallic body and binding what was left of his skin tight. He gasped awake, and Mercy smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta—soothingly peaceful even as his eyes dimmed—couldn’t be healed with the same means, but electricity spoke wonders to a robot. Mercy’s energy, already dimming, sparked his soul once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They staggered forward, wrapping up the battle until—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pharah. Her best friend, her second half, slammed over her right as an explosion tore through the ground at Mercy’s feet. Angela felt the metal Raptora suit shredding under the force, felt it warping and twisting as Fareeha screamed, still crouching protectively over Angela’s prone form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears tracked Angela’s face as the aftershocks went silent, as their team moved to eliminate the final resistance, as Pharah’s visor flipped upwards and Fareeha offered a blood-soaked smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saved you again,” she said, voice rasping as blood filled her lungs. “M-Might need—the favor returned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a strangled gasp, Mercy completed her third resurrection of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was too many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt nauseous on the shuttle ride back to their nearby safehouse, a bunker-like dome nestled in the thick trees of a Siberian forest. Everyone was silent, worn from the fight, and Fareeha was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Angela, all pretenses of independence and confidence gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d laughed on the way to the battle, but no one was laughing now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, there was a post-battle routine. Angela knew, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>—on the days where everyone was careful and lucky as hell, and no one needed reviving—she got to partake. It was mostly drinking and old stories, humorous things that sidestepped the heat of battle. Sometimes they played cards. The night usually dissolved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t get to see it, tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her stomach wrenched, and she clenched her eyes shut as a whole slew of nanites went dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old injuries began to flare. The stab wound from Caracas. The electrocution at Prague. Even the aches from hypothermia on Mount Fuji—it was like a tidal wave Angela could see, but couldn’t stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait for a hot bath,” Fareeha was saying, trying to prod her into conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got that way sometimes, after a resurrection. Trying to ease the reality of what she’d done—saving Angela—with what Angela had to do—saving her. Sometimes she was hit by lucky shots, but most of the time, Pharah was too good for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the time, she was protecting their field medic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a topic neither cared to address.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela forced a smile. “Mmm. Lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded strained, even to her ears. Her heart literally skipped beats as another round of nanites deactivated, and she resisted the urge to hunch over, protect herself even a little. But Fareeha was watching, eagle-eyed, so Angela added, “I’m glad you’re alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She very nearly stuttered over the last word, but she managed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha colored, ducking her head. “Thanks to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela merely offered a serene smile while she slowly died inside.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She made it to her private quarters—but only barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a narrow thing. While the rest of the team staggered into their rooms for showers, she fumbled for an excuse. Settled on, “I need to do some work on the Caduceus staff.” And everyone knew not to bother her there, not when it involved fixing the device that kept them all alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bid her farewell, and Fareeha had grabbed her arm briefly, comfortingly, just long enough to say, “Angela. Get some rest tonight, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela had laughed, a horribly convincing sound, and strolled down the hall, too far away for anyone to notice the pained shudders that suddenly wracked her body. She could barely stay upright when she wrenched open her door, staggered into the tiny, impersonal room. Slammed the door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her overnight bag was perched in the corner, and she aimed for it. For the medicine inside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three steps in, the tidal wave slammed into her. Nearly every nanite in her body went dark, and all the demons they’d been fighting roared to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela barely had the cognizance to stifle her scream. Vaguely, she realized her knees were buckling—vaguely, she felt the concrete floor, only softened by a thin rug, slamming into her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What followed was pain worse than anything she’d experienced lately. Three resurrections—three times the torture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shuddered violently, tears tracking down her cheeks as she ground her teeth, hunching into herself. Drowning as waves of agony washed over her, making her gasp and heave for air that never seemed to make it to her lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision blurred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darkness loomed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, she could reach the propofol before it got this bad. A shaky injection, a half hour of grievous pain before the medicine kicked in, and her body would relax enough that she’d be pulled under, awake just fine the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dimly, Angela stared up at the medicine bag. Could she reach it…? But, no, there was absolutely no way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time, she’d put it on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>next </span>
  </em>
  <span>time, she’d try not to wait so long before quarantining in her room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela moaned, digging her forehead into the stiff fibers of the blue carpet. She imagined everyone congregating in the kitchen, finished with their showers and ready to unwind in a way that didn’t leave them with nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela wished nightmares were all she had to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dark, devastated part of her heart wrenched at the idea that they were all enjoying life without her. That was a doctor’s job—keeping her patients alive so they could enjoy laughter and company. And yet, alone in her room, enduring every wound from battles past, Angela hated them, just a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abject misery wound into her soul, and she prayed for unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she didn’t expect was a knock on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha couldn’t quite explain what tugged at her soul. While the rest of the team gathered around Reinhardt’s keg, lively with mirth and relief at another day survived, she refused a stein from the man in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d quirked an eyebrow, his booming voice bold. “Nauseas from the resurrection, eh? A good pint will fix you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe Doctor Ziegler fixed her up already,” Genji stated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha rolled her eyes at the implication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In truth, I am very grateful that you were able to shield Doctor Ziegler from that blast,” Zenyatta stated serenely. “We would be lost without her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone murmured agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s fine,” Fareeha said, a little too forcefully. “I made sure of that.” But something about the way Angela’s eyes pinched as she smiled, the way she waved and walked down the hall before even checking her patients over—it was pulling at Fareeha all wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Best to check on her, just to be sure she didn’t get a slice of metal from the Raptora suit, currently a hulking mess in their dropship. Fareeha set her jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a drink for me tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reinhardt clapped his chest in answer and filled up the mug, shoving it at Zenyatta. The omnic stared stoically at him, and everyone burst into laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha left them alone, padding down the hallway, around the corner, straight to Angela’s designated room. The door was closed, and when she pressed an ear to the metal, everything beyond was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gut turned again. Something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t pin what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, not until she knocked softly, and Angela didn’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha broke the door down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Angela thought faintly, eyelids fluttering as she comprehended the crash. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion, like she was swimming through murky water. The echo of the crash seemed to smash through her mind, inciting a migraine far worse than anything she could have imagined. It pierced behind her eyes, making her gasp with newfound regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone—no, Fareeha—had taken a hold of her shoulder. When she muscled Angela onto her back, the motion felt like someone was shaking a limp ragdoll. Her limbs had stopped responding at some point, nausea a constant companion as she desperately sucked in rattling breath after breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—la!—move—</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” Fareeha was speaking, but it sounded garbled, disconnected from reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela tried to answer, to reassure, but those facilities were so far faded that all she managed was another vicious shudder. Her eyelids fluttered, and she barely had the pretense to feel embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to fade into oblivion, wanted to sleep this off until she was aware enough to pretend it wasn’t a big deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the pain was so intense that she hovered instead, trapped between sleep and agony.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The medicine could help</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought distantly, desperately.</span>
</p><p><span>Of course, she couldn’t physically say</span> <span>that.</span></p><p>
  <span>And so, she watched, trapped in her own body as Fareeha bent over her, screamed for help, pressed her cheeks between strong, gentle hands, chanted reassuringly and then kissed her forehead with a desperation she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice, Angela would think later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not being alone.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Zenyatta came, followed by Genji and Reinhardt. The omnic shouldn’t have known how to handle a physical body, especially with how Angela was writhing under Fareeha’s firm, fearful grip, but he pressed two metallic fingers to her forehead and said, “Oh, Doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It broke Fareeha, and tears pricked her eyes as she squeezed Angela’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds later, three of his orbs were hovering over Angela’s form, golden glow trailing into her body in key areas—her head, her heart, her lungs. She visibly relaxed as they settled over her, her glassy blue eyes drifting closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angela—” Fareeha said, desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,” she breathed in response, and whether it was aimed at Zenyatta or Fareeha was unclear. Her whole body went limp, unresponsive, interrupted only by her staccato breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha didn’t realize she was trembling herself until Zenyatta put a hand on her shoulder. “She will survive, Fareeha. But we should not leave her here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the ground. Of course not. Fareeha numbly slid her arms under Angela’s form, scooping her up like she weighed nothing. Awake, she was such a force to be reckoned with—Fareeha continually forgot how light and short she truly was. Her heart wrenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genji and Reinhardt pressed against the opposite wall, quiet and grim, as Fareeha carried her out of the tiny room, straight to the well-equipped medbay. Of course, the only healer who knew how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>use </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was currently unconscious, but it made them all feel better to have the machines nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What caused it?” Reinhardt finally grumbled. “I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, no one spoke.</span>
</p><p><span>Then, Zenyatta said, “I’m afraid we</span> <span>did.” The omnic was matter-of-fact, but anyone who knew him would hear remorse in his metallic tone. “It would appear our revivals do not come without a price.”</span></p><p>
  <span>At her bedside, Fareeha clenched Angela’s hand tighter, running her thumb over the doctor’s pale knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>An entire day passed, and finally, Angela opened her eyes. She knew two things instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First: her nanites were operational again, masking her injuries so all she felt was contented energy. Zenyatta’s orbs hovered over her, but they weren’t doing anything her body couldn’t already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second: Fareeha was at her side. And she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Angela said, cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never thought to </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>us?” Fareeha snarled, simmering with barely-constrained fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, fury wasn’t right. It was fear, and they both knew it. Fareeha’s strong grip was almost painful, and Angela twisted her hand to intertwine their fingers. Her smile was sad. “What could it have changed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Angela. Keeping you from collapsing in a bedroom alone, for one. Helping manage the pain, two. Saving us all a heart attack, three.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha clenched her jaw. “Don’t—</span>
  <em>
    <span>apologize</span>
  </em>
  <span>—for this.” She pushed away from the bed, pacing like a tiger in a cage. Dangerous, pent-up energy, emotion she seemed desperate not to push on Angela. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a failing process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were right there. We were </span>
  <em>
    <span>just down the hall </span>
  </em>
  <span>and you left us to suffer alone.” Fareeha gripped her hair, spinning back to Angela. “If a soldier is bleeding on the battlefield, they need to tell their commanding officer. Period. New rule.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela pushed upright, taking a gorgeously deep breath. Everything felt good. Brighter, happier, the pain a distant memory. It wouldn’t stop the nervous, heart-pounding anxiety the next time she had to resurrect someone, but for now it seemed like an old dream, its impact already fading as the present took hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant she was utterly free to be amused by Fareeha’s comment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am neither a soldier, nor are we on a battlefield,” she remarked, tilting her head. “And you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mein Schatz</span>
  </em>
  <span>, are certainly not my commanding officer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha deflated immediately, and Angela wasn’t surprised to see her eyes shining in the medbay’s bright lights. She patted her bedside, and Fareeha perched on the edge, stiff as a board. Angela swiveled so she could lean against the woman’s muscled shoulder, finding immense comfort in their proximity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, feeling Angela’s warmth beside her, Fareeha relaxed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was pained and quiet. “Why didn’t you at least tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Angela? I could have helped. Any of us would have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt flared in Angela’s chest, but she was so, so tired of it. She endured so much pain keeping everyone safe and alive, and the idea of apologizing again for her sacrifice made Angela balk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she didn’t apologize. She answered honestly: “I didn’t want you to worry.” A pause, a slight shake of her head. “There isn’t an alternative, and thinking there might be means we’d lose valuable time in a crucial moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five seconds. That was all Angela had to resurrect someone, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha knew it. She scrubbed her face. Heavy bags sat beneath her eyes, and Angela suspected she hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. “Do you… prefer hiding from us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a deep question, and something Angela understood in her soul. Because despite what she’d just said about alerting people on the battlefield, many of the members of Overwatch weren’t that way—especially Fareeha. Nurse wounds in private. Don’t bother others with petty injuries. Don’t let anyone see through the ultra-strong soldier façade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela had become an expert in tracking them down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had occurred to her only recently she’d taken on their bad habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, staring at Fareeha’s painfully raw, questioning gaze, Angela knew the answer. She traced the swirl of the Horus tattoo under Fareeha’s eye, and Fareeha leaned into her touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warmth filled Angela’s heart. She smiled slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha sighed, leaning her cheek against Angela’s hair. “Good. Because Reinhardt definitely mentioned taping one of Torbjorn’s trackers to your staff. I don’t think you’re going to escape any of them now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought gave Angela gut-wrenching anxiety, but—no one was arguing that it’d happen again, or that it could be prevented. That alone gave her the strength to laugh, just a little. As long as they didn’t think about the consequences, she could keep healing as needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still a price she’d pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe, just maybe, she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to pay it alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angela smiled as Fareeha kissed her head, intertwining their fingers once more. “Tell Reinhardt that if he touches my staff, he’ll be the one seeing Valhalla.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fareeha’s startled laughter echoed through the medbay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d be just fine. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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